


A Gift for a King

by A_Diamond



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Is King, Blow Jobs, Canon Era, Consensual Slavery, Dom/sub, First Time, M/M, Pining, Roleplay, Yule, meddling knights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-10 20:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12919791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond
Summary: It’s Yule in Camelot, and Arthur’s most loyal knights, his best friends, have finally decided on the perfect gift for their king: Merlin is everything Arthur has always wanted but denied himself, not wanting to take advantage of his position over Merlin. Fortunately for all involved, having Arthur over him is Merlin’s favorite position.





	A Gift for a King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie/gifts).



Darkness covered Camelot, a shroud of shadow that had chased away the last vestiges of sunlight hours before. But inside the Rising Sun, candles and lanterns and roaring fires pushed back against the chill of the long night before the longest night. The tavern was as boisterous as ever, so the rowdy patrons paid no particular heed to the group of men seated around a table in the far corner, even when their conversation turned heated.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Gwaine, no! This is the worst idea you’ve ever had, and you have so many terrible ideas, especially when you’ve had—how much mead is it now?”

“Yes, Elyan! Think about it! What do you get a king who has everything he could possible want in life, and the power to get anything at all, except one particular thing? You get him that thing! It’s a perfect Yule gift.”

“You can’t just give that kind of gift,” Lancelot protested sharply, “even to a king. I can’t believe you’d even suggest it, no matter how drunk you are!”

Gwaine flapped a hand at him, too far down his tankard to reply immediately.

“Actually...” Leon had been contemplating the knights’ discussion in silence, and they all stopped to listen when he leaned forward. Of them all, it was he who knew Arthur best. For or against, his would be the final word on Gwaine’s absurd plan. “This time, I do believe that Gwaine has the right of it. It’s all I’ve ever known Arthur to covet that he won’t take for himself.”

Despite Leon’s expertise, Lancelot’s outraged honor was not so easily soothed. “But surely he has a reason for denying himself, if that’s the choice he made.”

“I think we all know his reason. I think we all know it’s not the problem he believes it to be,” said Percival. No one could deny that undeniable truth, so he asked instead, “Do you really think Merlin will go along with it?”

“Yes!” Gwaine banged his tankard on the table to emphasize the point. “Do you really doubt it?”

Lancelot had to admit, “No, I suppose I don’t.”

“Then we’re agreed?”

Some of the knights hesitated more than others, but eventually everyone met Gwaine’s cheerfully demanding gaze and offered their acknowledgement. It was decided, and they had less than a full day to arrange their king’s gift in time for the Yule celebrations.

* * *

Despite the festive mood of the evening, Arthur was out of sorts by the time he reached his chambers. The feast had been fine enough, standard winter fare with a few extra treats thrown in, but nothing memorable. That meant that the only remarkable aspect of the meal was the one that had irritated him:

His manservant had been nowhere to be seen.

Instead of Merlin, he’d been served by George. And while the man was really a much better servant all around than Merlin, Arthur had thought they were past the days of Merlin’s unforgivable absence during important functions. It reflected very poorly on a king to lose control of his supposedly most devoted subjects in such a way.

Merlin was familiar enough—infamous enough—that his presence was noted. Or, in this case, his absence had been noted and remarked upon by no less than three lords. Two had expressed good wishes for Merlin’s recovered health; the last, nearly drowned in too much spiced wine, wondered whether he was enjoying himself in Arthur’s chambers now that Arthur must have finally found “a better use for the boy.”

The man’s son, being in full possession of the wits that his father had pissed away, removed him quickly from Arthur’s sight. But it had been near the end of the festivities, so it left him with a bitter taste in his mouth that soured the lingering sweetness of pudding. That wasn’t what he kept Merlin around for, and it insulted both of them to imply otherwise. Arthur would never take advantage of Merlin’s position or his loyalty.

Not that shirking his duties to disappear to the tavern first chance he got was Merlin’s best show of loyalty to date, but he could always rely on Merlin being there when it really mattered. Even when there was no earthly reason for Merlin to be there.

So preoccupied was he in his thoughts that he didn’t notice anything amiss in his room until he was halfway through the door. Then he stopped in his tracks, stared for a very long, very silent moment, and retreated a step to close the door. The king had to take a deep breath and reassure himself that he was not so drunk as to have somehow ended up anywhere other than his own chambers, nor to have hallucinated what was on the other side of the door. Resolved on those questions, he opened the door once more and secured it with himself on the inside this time.

The same sight awaited him on his second entrance.

His missing manservant knelt on the floor by the corner of his bed, head bowed as though to showcase the stretch of pale, flawless skin over his back and long neck. So much skin that Arthur had seen before—modesty vanished when men were at war, and Merlin had been by his side through so many battles—but never like this. Never offered up in supplication, a tribute revealed solely for his admiration. And revealed Merlin was, bare all the way down to the curve where his legs folded under him, his ass perched tantalizingly on his heels.

All that adorned Merlin’s obeisant form was a golden chain fastened around the column of his throat. A collar.

Merlin had to have heard him enter, but he didn’t move even to look up as Arthur approached. Arthur halted beside him, stopping just shy of letting himself rest a hand on the nape of Merlin’s neck. It would fit perfectly, warm to cover the gooseflesh on the arch formed by Merlin’s bowed head, but he didn’t dare take the liberty before he understood what Merlin’s presence meant. As yet, he was still lost.

Keeping his voice soft to suit the mood of the moment, he asked, “Merlin?”

When Merlin answered, “Sire,” he did so with more reverence than Arthur could ever recall hearing in his friend’s voice. Especially when it came to that word, which Merlin had only ever used mockingly before. And that was all he said, eyes still downcast respectfully.

Arthur’s nerves cocked uneasily. Even on his best behavior, Merlin was never so docile a creature as that. Enchantments and coercions worried his mind. “What is this?”

“A gift for Yule,” said Merlin, “from the Knights of the Round Table.”

It reassured Arthur enough that he finally allowed his hand to fall where it itched to go, curving possessively over the back of Merlin’s neck. Merlin shivered at the touch, but it didn’t feel like fear, and he pushed up into it—just a slight straightening of his back, a tilt of his head, but enough—so Arthur left it there as he considered. The Round Table, the gathering of his most trusted allies, wasn’t common knowledge. No enemy could use it against him.

But he still had to be sure. “Just from the knights?”

Merlin twisted out from under Arthur’s light grip, finally breaking his posture to make sure Arthur appreciated the full effect of his rolling eyes. “I’m here, aren’t I? Do you think I would be if I weren’t willing?”

“No. And this?” He plucked at the fine golden collar. “Your willingness extends to—”

Arthur wasn’t sure what to call the sort of captive fantasy Merlin seemed to be offering, particularly without giving away how long he’d dreamed of such a thing. How long he’d berated himself for wanting to abuse his position over Merlin.

“I’m already yours. All Camelot seems to know it except you.” Merlin colored slightly, a delicate flush that spread down what parts of his chest Arthur could see, but he also grinned the dazzling idiot’s grin that had first caught Arthur’s attention so many years before. “I mean, unless you’d rather have it the other way ’round, which I could—”

Twisting his fingers in the chain tightened it across Merlin’s throat, and tightening it across Merlin’s throat silenced him instantly. His lips remained parted, no longer grinning but wanton, a match for the bright, challenging hunger that sparked in his eyes. At last, Arthur believed it. He could have this without ruining them. Without taking advantage.

“No,” he said. “This way around.”

Finally assured of his welcome, of his right, Arthur gave himself time to savor the moment. He wore all his celebratory finery: his best jacket and a new cloak, his crown a heavy and familiar weight on his brow. And then there was Merlin, bare and trusting, kneeling beneath his hand like a prize. Arthur’s prize.

He took longer than he needed to appreciate it, waiting until he could feel Merlin fighting back impatience under his touch. Though Merlin’s shoulders tensed and shifted, he almost immediately took a deep breath and resettled himself without Arthur having to say anything. Merlin was a restless thing by nature and surely had to be itching to move or say something equal parts absurd and witty. But for Arthur, for this new thing blooming between them, he held himself in check.

When Arthur tugged experimentally on the collar, Merlin followed. He arched back, spine curving to keep his knees on the ground without getting choked by the chain. With the way that angled his body, Arthur had a perfectly satisfying view of Merlin’s stiff cock poking out ahead of him.

“Hm. I see why they thought you a worthy gift for a king. Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

Merlin’s flush was only half as dark as his cock, but it spread all the way down his chest. Arthur took it to be a pleased color until Merlin proved him wrong by glaring and snapping, “Look, I know I’m—but I’m not here to be mocked and humiliated. I didn’t think that was what you—”

Given Arthur’s usual teasing, he supposed Merlin could be forgiven for his defensiveness. But it was an assumption Arthur couldn’t let stand, so he said, “I’m not mocking you, Merlin. You please me and I’m expressing my satisfaction. Keep pleasing me and I’ll keep doing so. And believe me...”

He leaned down without letting up on the collar, putting his mouth barely an inch from Merlin’s ear, and continued, “I know very well what you’re here for.”

That time, there could be no doubting the nature of Merlin’s shiver. Not with the way his breath caught and his cock jumped like a wild thing with its own mind. It really was a pretty cock, and if he could get this much reaction from it just with his words, Arthur couldn’t wait to see what it would do under his more direct attentions.

And yet wait he did, because there were other matters to attend. Releasing Merlin, he commanded, “Undress me.”

Merlin rose to his feet, not with the fluid grace Arthur had seen in bed slaves and courtesans trained in other lands, but with shaking legs and unsteady feet. He grimaced when Arthur caught him, muttered, “Sorry, I just—” and Arthur cut him off with a soft snort.

“You just thought you could wait like that for—how long?—and not have your knees suffer for it. Idiot.”

Merlin answered his mocking with a cheeky grin. “Since you sat for the feast. Of course, I forgot how long you were likely to spend stuffing yourself.”

Raising his most imperious eyebrows, Arthur waited. The flush spread across Merlin’s cheeks gratifyingly quickly; even more gratifying was how his eves got wide and dark and his breath came shallower. Once he was fully enthralled, Arthur asked in a low voice, “Is that how you address your master?”

Golden links bobbed along with Merlin’s throat as he swallowed. “No, sire.”

Arthur nodded. “Then resume your task. Or start it, more accurately, since you failed to do so before.”

It was hardly the first time Merlin had undressed Arthur; it wasn’t one of his regular duties, but Arthur had been ill and injured and weary often enough that Merlin had intervened, helped him out of his armor and clothing and into bed. But those had all been moments of caretaking. Of loyal and undemanding assistance.

Never before had the act been so charged between them, heat following every brush of Merlin’s fingers over Arthur’s skin as he stripped away cloak and tunic, guided the fabric off Arthur’s body and folded it with a careful respect that had never been shown to the king’s belongings in the past. He kept his eyes down, on his work, but his height meant Arthur could still see the blue of them through his lashes.

Then Arthur lost that view and gained another, equally appealing, when his chest was bare and Merlin dropped back to his knees to relieve Arthur of his boots. In the firelight, his hair glowed nearly as gold as the chain around his neck and Arthur drank in the sight. The spread of his thighs displayed his obscene excitement, one which Arthur shared—as Merlin revealed, peeling Arthur’s trousers down. He lifted Arthur’s feet one at a time, stepping him out of the pant legs and setting them aside on top of the pile of other clothes.

It left Arthur as nude as Merlin, down to the last: Arthur had his crown, and Merlin his collar.

Merlin looked up at him, eyes dark and wanting but waiting. Waiting on Arthur’s instruction, on his next command. Arthur almost made it a question instead, still half a breath from believing it wouldn’t all end in disaster. But Merlin’s expression was so trusting that it forced the last of the air from Arthur’s lungs before he could voice his doubt; Merlin trusted him with this, and he would trust Merlin to stop him before he crossed a line. It wasn’t like Merlin had ever had trouble saying no to him before.

“Come up here and kiss me,” he ordered, and Merlin did.

There was nothing gentle or shy to the way Merlin sprang to his feet and caught Arthur’s lips with his own, which suited Arthur fine because there was nothing gentle or shy about Merlin, not at the heart of him. Kind, yes, and just as awkward as the day he strolled into Camelot, but Merlin was the strongest and bravest man Arthur had ever had the honor of knowing. And so he kissed Arthur as a brave man should, with the same courage it had taken to place himself vulnerable at Arthur’s feet, and his tongue pushed into Arthur’s mouth like it was assured of its welcome.

Arthur welcomed the kiss and returned it just as hungrily. His tongue licked against Merlin’s, past it to run along his lips, his teeth. Taking the step Merlin hadn’t, Arthur closed the space between them and circled one arm around Merlin, pressing his hand flat on the small of Merlin’s back. The other hand he raised to wrap around the collar, holding it with the same manner of possessiveness as he kissed Merlin.

When Merlin groaned into it, Arthur grinned and broke away. Shoving Merlin none too gently toward the bed, he asked, “Do you know how to please a man, slave?”

Merlin glanced back, coyness belied by his quirked lips. “I dunno about a man, but I’ve a fair idea how to serve a king.”

“Show me.”

Sitting on the end of the mattress, Merlin opened his arms for Arthur to step into, hands settling warm on Arthur’s hips when he was in place. Face turned up to match his gaze to Arthur’s, he murmured, “As it pleases you, Sire,” and took the tip of Arthur’s cock between his lips.

It was Arthur’s turn to groan, long and low as the heat of Merlin’s mouth surrounded him and Merlin’s tongue bathed him in attention. He was no fresh squire, but his arousal had been building since he walked in, and Merlin’s mouth was sweeter than he’d ever dared imagine. Faster than he expected, he had to make the decision whether to finish like that or move on to something else. Merlin didn’t make it easy to concentrate on the choice, sucking and stroking him to distraction.

He threaded his fingers into Merlin’s hair to hold him still, and Merlin stopped his efforts obediently. His eyes had fallen closed as he devoted himself to Arthur’s cock, but they opened again to peer up at Arthur from beneath dark lashes. He was a beautiful challenge, but Arthur had all night with him; and it was a very long night. Arthur planned to make full use of their hours of darkness.

“You should bring me off with your mouth,” he decided. “Then I can take my time with taking you properly. Make sure you’re ready to receive your king.”

He dropped his hand from Merlin’s hair to stroke down his cheek, then lingered to brush the gold chain collar with his fingertips. “I’ll have to reward my knights for providing me such a gift, but I hope—” Arthur coughed the thick emotion from his throat, said again, “I hope there’s more to it than the gift, this night. You—”

Pulling off Arthur’s cock with a wet sound and wetter lips, Merlin rolled his eyes. “I already told you I’m yours, idiot.”

“Sire,” Arthur corrected, too busy grinning to say anything else.

“I’m yours, idiot sire,” said Merlin sweetly.

Arthur let him get away with it, just once. It was Yule, after all, and Merlin had better things to be doing with his mouth than talking.


End file.
